Relay House Station,
on the Northern Central R. R. Just where that is I haven't yet found out. We
stood up or laid down in the street from noon yesterday until 3 a. M. this
morning, when cars came and we went on board. They are box cars, no seats, but
they have a roof, and that is what we most needed. We shivered and shook so our
teeth chattered when we first got on board, and it was 5 A. M. before the train
started. We were no longer curious to know where we were going. We were wet,
cold, hungry and thirsty, and from lying on the pavements were so stiff we could
hardly get on our feet. The major had to give it up—his leg was hurt worse than
he thought. We are sorry not to have him along, for next to Colonel Smith, he
is the most soldierly soldier in the regiment. Our two days' rations are gone
and we are wondering when we will get another feed.
Noon. We are at
Hanover Junction, Pa. We now feel sure we are after the rebel horse thieves,
but unless we get a faster move on than this, they will get away with all the
horses in the country before we get there. We are waiting for further orders
from General Wool. The 144th N. Y. just stopped here, on their way to
Baltimore. They are just out, and to hear them complain about being kept on the
cars a whole day and night made us laugh.
5 p.m. We are full
once more. Doesn't seem as if we could ever get hungry again after the feed we
have just had. We are at Hanover, Pa. As the train stopped it seemed as if the
whole population were standing beside the track, and nearly everyone had a
basket of eatables or a pail of coffee. Men, women and children were there and
they seemed to enjoy seeing us eat, even urging us to eat more, after we had
stuffed ourselves, and then told us to put the rest in our haversacks. But they
are terribly scared at the near approach of the rebel cavalry. We told them to
fear no more. We were there, and the memory of the feast we had had would make
us their special defenders. They distributed tracts among us, some of them
printed sermons, and wound up by asking us to join them in singing the
long-meter doxology. We not only sang it, we shouted it; each one took his own
key and time, and some, I for one,—got through in time to hear the last line from
the others. We left them with cheers and blessings that drowned the noise of
the train, and I prayed that if I ever got stranded it might be in Hanover.
GETTYSBURG, PA.
Night. The train has stopped outside the village, and a citizen says the Rebs
are just out of the village on the opposite side. It is pitch dark and the
orders are to show no lights and to keep very still. I have a candle and am
squatted in the corner of the car trying to keep my diary going.
The officers are
parading up and down along the train trying to enforce the order to be quiet. I
am hovering over my candle so it won't be seen, for I must write, for fear I
won't get a better chance.
SOURCE:
Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 48-50
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